


reunion

by AuroreMartell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dream Sequence, F/M, Implied Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:10:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroreMartell/pseuds/AuroreMartell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for the SanSan Secret Valentine's Day exchange. prompt: reunion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reunion

**Author's Note:**

> I'm no shipper. so this may suck. but thanks for reading

a/n: so this is my submission to the SanSan secret valentine's day exchange. my prompt was "reunion" and I'm not a shipper so don't be mad if this story sucks okay bye

He blames it all on the littlest Stark bitch, the merciless one with the chopped up hair and the scowling face, for making him think of the little bird before he dies.

Sandor Clegane is dying, and he knows it, but he's not going to let it happen before he sees her again.

All of his life, Sandor has been bowing. Bowing to his fucking brother. Bowing to Tywin Lannister, and Joffrey Baratheon, and to all those damn Lannisters. Bowing to the Brotherhood, even, and so he's not going to submit to death.

The sky above his prone form is cloudy, and he's not sure if it's in his eyes or his mind.

The little bird had those eyes, a lot like the sky when it wasn't so damn cloudy. Sandor finds it's easier to think on her than his imminent death, and the pain that's writhing in his gut, and so he tries to remember her face. Not like that will be difficult. It's the only thing he cares to remember from King's Landing.

But fuck, fuck, fuck, his insides are twisting in blinding pain and even though Sandor Clegane will ride out this searing agony, he's going to die, damn it, he's going to die.

His eyes are closing, and he can't stop it.

Suddenly, the air turns soft and cool about him, and when he stretches out an arm, a wave of green fire washes up against him and turns to water. Sandor doesn't understand for a moment, but his eyes adjust to the half-light, and there she is.

Her hair is shining like a dragon coin, and those eyes, gods those eyes, are glistening as she wipes the blood off of him. "You're back," she whispers gleefully. "I knew you'd come back for me, wouldn't you?"

For a moment, he can't respond. How can the little bird be here?

But then he realizes: there is no "here." Both of them are suddenly in the little bird's tower, with the waves of wildfire breaking against the walls, and she is tending to his wounds with all the gentle grace of the Mother.

"This is a dream," he growls, unable to stop himself. It must be so- the wildfire is gone, turned to water, his brother is nowhere to be found, and he's with his little bird. Sandor knows when things get as good as this, it must be a dream. "It's not real. You're not real."

The little bird cocks her head. "Does that matter? I get to see you again." She smiles shyly, and lowers her eyes. "Forgive me."

Sandor Clegane rather likes how the little bird, even in his dream, is still as courteous and pure as always. Her hands are so soft, too, swirling over his scarred body, and the rhythm of the wildfire crashing against her tower makes a lulling music.

No. No. You're not dying yet, he tells himself, and forces himself to sit up. If she stays here with him, he will submit to the Stranger much faster, and Sandor refuses to die just yet. "Get out of my head. Go back to your husband"

Her eyes widen. "But I don't want to. You would honestly have me leave, Ser?"

Sandor debates snapping at her for this. He would have, a while ago, when he was still alive. "No, little bird, I wouldn't have you here."

"That's good." She hides a small, embarrassed smile. "Have you realized that you've never truly called me by my name?"

He grunts. It's true, because calling his little bird "Sansa" would seem much too personal. He's just a dog, and if he can think on her as a little bird, it is much easier for him to cope with the little bird and everything she represents.

"You should call me Sansa," she whispers. "We're dying together, anyways."

"What?" growls Sandor. "Neither of us are dying."

It's spectacular, what her hands are doing to his burnt face, as if her small soft hands are wiping away the scars and burns. He wants to weep- for himself or her- but he's shed all his tears already. No, he wants to kiss her, to press his rough mouth up against hers like he could have done before he left.

She pauses, her blue eyes soft. "No. I'm not dying, not truly." Her breath catches in her throat. "But Sansa Stark has to die, you see..."

He doesn't understand.

"I suppose I have to say my goodbyes soon," speculates his little bird, and her hand lifts to her hair. She glances at it, puzzled and sad, as the very tips of her beautiful auburn hair begins to dull and turn brown. "Oh no."

All Sandor wants it to reach up and grab her, tell her that neither of them are dying. But it's a lie, a sweet poisonous lie, and so he manages to keep silent.

She sniffs back a sob as the darkness of her hair reaches up to two inches. "I suppose I asked for this.. trusting Joffrey, and the queen..."

"No," he grinds out. Somehow he can feel the pain from back when he was alive, and he is beginning to panic.

"Oh," she breathes. "You've been so brave, haven't you?" The little bird is weeping slightly now, her hair turning darker by the second. "You really were a true knight. You've saved me, you see."

"I... no knight..."

The little bird smiles, and her hair is so brown now there is only an inch of red left. I loved a maid as fair as autumn, with sunset in her hair, thinks Sandor, but the sunset is dying in her hair. Just as the light is dying in her sky blue eyes, and oh he wants to weep so much, for her.

The last word Sansa Stark says to him is, "Liar," and then something dies in those eyes and she's gone.

Sandor Clegane opens his eyes, and he's truly howling now in rage and complete agony and a feeling of weakness and regret.

But he is not dead. Somehow.

"Who are you?" says a calm voice from above him.

"Sansa?" he whispers hoarsely, even though the voice is male.

"No," the voice responds, and Sandor crumbles.

Hands grip him from above, and begin to drag him somewhere. But he does not care. Because even though she is gone, he was seen Sansa Stark one last time, and that reunion will be enough for now.


End file.
